


Most Likely Kill You in the Morning

by MilesHibernus



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Flynn never had much of a brain-mouth filter to begin with, M/M, Mathias is possibly the world's most repressed person, Mutual Pining, Pathonia Shaw's A+ (grand-)parenting, The Dread Pirate Fairwind, The treasury heist, canon AU, gratuitous princess bride references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29512044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilesHibernus/pseuds/MilesHibernus
Summary: Once upon a time, Flynn Fairwind was a pirate.Once upon a time, Mathias Shaw's ship was taken by pirates.I trust you see where this is going.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 19
Kudos: 53





	Most Likely Kill You in the Morning

Fortunately, Flynn knew a couple of people with magical healing ability, so once he limped back to Boralus he was able to get himself squared away. The medics in Vigil Hill had done their best and they’d kept him alive and even gotten him functional, but they didn’t have much magic at their disposal.

With one thing and another he didn’t make it back to the _Middenwake_ until the excitement was over - apparently Tae and the Alliance emissary had had a terribly thrilling time of it, chasing Priscilla Ashvane all over the city. Flynn was just as glad to have missed it; he could ride a horse, but leaping over cabbage carts in hot pursuit struck him as an excellent way to end up breaking a few of the bones Sweete’s thugs had missed.

He was in the process of stripping for bed when Sonya knocked and told him Cyrus wanted to see him; Flynn groaned and put his shirt back on to trudge to the harbourmaster’s office. When he arrived it turned out not to be a private meeting, and Cyrus made introductions. The white-haired man in a long coat was Genn Greymane, actual king of Gilneas - insofar as there still was a Gilneas, which Flynn understood to be not very - and Halford Wyrmbane, leader of the Alliance expedition proper, was a paladin in faintly-glowing plate armour. Flynn couldn’t imagine wearing that stuff on a daily basis, but Wyrmbane seemed perfectly comfortable and who was Flynn to judge?

Cyrus’s third guest leant against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, in the dimmest corner of the office. Even so the light caught on his ginger hair. When he emerged from the shadows to be introduced, Flynn couldn’t help but stare. Not just because he was handsome, sharp-edged as a knife; not just because his leather armour clung to him like a glove, showing off a lean, compact physique as if that were its purpose. Flynn was hardly immune to attractive people of any gender, but mere good looks didn’t usually cause him to lose his head and he couldn’t work out what the issue was. And then, because that was how Flynn’s luck ran sometimes, Cyrus introduced him as Master Mathias Shaw of SI:7.

Of course there had to be more than one person in the world called Mathias, but the name struck Flynn hard and he could tell Shaw had seen it. He suspected those green eyes didn’t miss much.

But, Mathias or no Mathias, what the Alliance wanted was to offer him a job, sending the _Middenwake_ out to collect azerite with the help of teams of champions for defence and to do most of the legwork. The stuff was dangerously volatile, as the Ashvane Company's new powder had shown, but Flynn had a pair of holes in the water to throw money into and the Alliance would pay well.

Even after the meeting was done and he could finally go back to his ship and pour himself into his bunk, Flynn lay awake for a long time.

* * *

The problem was that, while Mathias probably could have killed all of the pirates, he was less sure he could kill them without either taking significant injury himself or putting the civilians on his ship under threat. It seemed like a better plan to bide his time. The pirates would be on high alert now anyway; a few days down the line their guard would lower. So he stood on the deck of the _Good Shepherd_ with all the other passengers and most of the crew and watched the captain of the _Revenge_ saunter across the gangplank.

From what Captain Raymer had said while breaking the news to the passengers, Flynn Fairwind was known for being a square dealer as pirates went. He didn’t have prisoners tortured or killed for entertainment, he didn’t ask for unpayably large ransoms, and he didn’t sell people into slavery - though Mathias would rather have been enslaved than marooned, as escaping slavery would be simpler. The odds weren’t good that Pathonia would ransom him. He’d been stupid enough to be captured, so he could get himself out of it.

Fairwind was tall and broad, with a mane of chestnut hair that he’d barely contained with a blood-red ribbon. His clothing was sturdy, but every possible opportunity had been taken to make it flashy as well: more red embroidered around the neck of his blindingly white shirt, gilt buttons on the leather greatcoat, elaborately tooled boots, and if Mathias wasn’t mistaken one of his earrings was set with a kraken’s eye. He walked with one hand on the hilt of his cutlass and stopped, making a show of surveying the assembled complement of the _Good Shepherd_.

“All right. Ladies, gentlemen, and noble persons of any persuasion, allow me to introduce myself,” he said, in a pleasant baritone. Kul Tiran accent, which wasn’t surprising with a name like ‘Fairwind’. He’d learned the trick of making his voice loud without shouting and it carried easily. “I’m Flynn Fairwind, and you are all my prisoners. I’m sure that some of you are having thoughts of heroics, and I beg you: don’t.” Mathias smothered a smirk. “I don’t enjoy harming prisoners, and as long as you do what you’re told I won’t have to. I would like to make it clear that I also won’t stand for abuse and if my crew treats you badly, I do want to know about it - but I _don’t_ recommend that you try to lie to me.” Now that was interesting. “We’ll be conducting interviews to find out who you all are and where we should send your ransom demands, and again, cooperation and honesty are in _everyone_ ’s best interests. Does anyone need me to explain further?”

Nobody said anything, and after a moment Fairwind nodded. “Good. Let’s get everyone to their new quarters then, shall we?”

* * *

The _Revenge_ was large enough that Fairwind had an office, albeit a tiny and cramped one. Mathias was mildly surprised to be offered a seat; he took it and waited for Fairwind to open the bidding. Today the pirate wore a brocade jacket over his shirt and he had his hair untied, revealing golden clasps braided into it. The effect was quite pleasing, on an aesthetic level.

Finally Fairwind said, “I won that bet.” He sat back in his chair.

Mathias’s brow furrowed. “What bet?”

“Whether you’d wait me out. You struck me as the type. The scared ones usually jump right in.”

Mathias didn’t frown. Apparently he hadn’t played it frightened enough. “You said we wouldn’t be hurt as long as we did what we were told. I’ve been doing what I’m told.”

Fairwind quirked a smile and said, “You have a lot of faith in the word of a freebooter.”

“You … struck me as the type,” Mathias said. Fairwind gave a huff of a laugh.

“D’you know, that’s nice to hear. Anyway, you know what information I need.” He picked up a pen and dipped it.

“Taylor - Mathias Taylor. I work for Delfloria Imports in Stormwind. You can send the demand to them.” For all the good it would do either of them.

Fairwind wrote, a quick, neat hand, and then looked up from his paper with his eyebrows raised. “Your company? No family?”

“My parents died when I was small,” Mathias said, with perfect truth.

Fairwind gave a sympathetic grimace and said, “That’s hard, mate. Alright. How do we contact them?”

Mathias gave the address. Delfloria’s was a functioning company, and the vast majority of its employees didn’t know who they ultimately worked for, but anything with his cover name attached would make its way to Pathonia quickly enough.

When Fairwind had written it down, he put his pen aside. “Thank you, Mr. Taylor. Now, do you have any complaints? Beyond the obvious, of course.”

“I could stand a better mattress,” Mathias said dryly. That the bunks in the brig had mattresses at all was a bit unexpected, but they were hardly luxury items.

Fairwind laughed and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

And that was the end of the interview. Fairwind took Mathias to the door and turned him over to the first mate, a man called Sweete. As Fairwind turned to go back to his desk, Mathias couldn’t help but notice that Sweete’s expression wasn’t that of a man who was happy with his captain.

* * *

Over the next several months Flynn found himself taking any excuse to visit the _Wind’s Redemption_. The various Alliance champions would congregate around the planning table on deck and Shaw was often there, leaning on the mast in good weather and lurking at the edge of the canopy they erected in bad. At first Flynn wasn’t exactly certain what service a spy could be providing, but then he began to notice how many of the champions - mostly the ones who wore leather armour - would seek Shaw out before receiving their assignments or after delivering their reports to Wyrmbane.

When Shaw was present and not involved with a champion, Flynn could usually chivvy him into conversation. It was never anything deep and Flynn did most of the talking, but Shaw’s contributions were always astute, and often funny in a dry-as-dust way. It reminded Flynn achingly of Mathias.

As ransom demands had been responded to and the brig had cleared out, Flynn had begun spending more and more time belowdecks, chatting. He’d always made a point of leaving if Mathias had so much as hinted that he ought, and he was fairly certain the man had never caught him looking, but the fact of the matter was that Flynn had been tired of dealing with Harlan’s agitation for more and bigger and richer targets. In hindsight it was easy to see that distracting himself with Mathias had been part of his problem; at the time it had felt like a welcome escape. He’d walk into the brig and Mathias would look up from where he sat on his bunk, elbows braced on his thighs and his hands clasped, and after a while he’d started looking happy to see Flynn.

Flynn didn’t think it had been entirely from boredom, either.

In any case, Shaw was there, and willing to talk, and Flynn was more than happy to take what he could get. And if he took thoughts of ginger hair and piercing green eyes to bed with him more than once, that was no one’s business but his own.

* * *

Mathias knew from the moment he saw Flynn’s face what the news was going to be. He heaved an internal sigh but didn’t allow his expression to change. Flynn stood outside the cell - Mathias had it to himself by now, and he couldn’t say he missed Waverly’s snoring - looking uncharacteristically subdued. He didn’t say anything, and finally Mathias said, “What’s wrong, Flynn?” They’d graduated to given names fairly recently.

Flynn heaved a sigh and said, “I’m afraid I’m Captain Fairwind for this.”

Mathias sat up straighter and let worry cross his face. “What is it?”

“We’ve had a response to your ransom demand,” Flynn said.

“I … assume it’s not good news,” Mathias said.

“They say they’ve never heard of you, mate.” Mathias rocked back a bit; that was a genuine surprise. He’d expected Pathonia to deny paying the ransom, but disavowing him entirely meant she was much more displeased than he’d thought.

It also meant he was going to have to make some very unpleasant decisions. He swallowed visibly and said, “So, what now?”

“We’ll find you an island with a water source and leave you there,” said Flynn unhappily. “I can spare a knife and a few blankets, fish hooks and line, some matches.”

“I’d rather have flint and steel, if it’s all the same,” Mathias said, keeping his voice flat in a way that would read as being numb with shock. “And a food source other than fish if possible.” He told himself that he shouldn’t be feeling sorry for the man; Flynn had after all marooned any number of people over the course of his career as a pirate.

But feel sorry he did, and only more so when Flynn, shoulders slumping, turned away. At the door he stopped and looked back. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Mathias couldn’t think of anything to say, and after a moment Flynn nodded and left.

Mathias lay down and thought hard.

* * *

Mathias hadn’t spent all his time in the brig; the prisoners had had regular excursions to the deck, and a few times to the galley for meals. He’d naturally been patted down before being left in his cell again, but Mathias was better at hiding things than the pirates were at detecting them. As a result he had a tidy little cache of useful items concealed in the mattress of one of the other three bunks in the cell, including several hairpins and a dagger that fit his hand like it had been made for him.

He waited until well after his evening meal to minimize the chance that one of the pirates would notice that he wasn’t in the cell. The hairpins were hardly ideal for picking locks, but he could manage; he took the dagger along as a last resort. If he had to kill someone, he’d have very, very large problems.

He went into stealth before leaving the brig’s outer chamber and opened the door into the corridor just enough to slip through. The pirate on duty in the small chamber he had to pass through to reach the rest of the ship showed no sign of noticing he was there.

It took a quarter hour of doubling back, waiting for people to pass, and general sneaking for Mathias to reach his goal: Flynn’s office. He needed to know where the ship was and where it was headed before he could make any more coherent plans, and from what Flynn had said he kept his logbook well up-to-date. Mathias actually had his hand on the latch when, from inside, Harlan Sweete said, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious,” said Flynn, with an edge in his voice Mathias had never heard. Mathias slid to the hinge side of the door to listen.

“You can’t _do_ this,” Sweete exclaimed.

Flynn snorted. “I can and I will. He’s one man.” Mathias felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up before reason reasserted itself: it wasn’t likely that Sweete would be arguing _against_ killing him.

“It doesn’t matter that he’s one man! If word leaks out that you’ve gone soft, people will start to disobey us -”

“And it’ll be nothing but work, work, work all the time,” Flynn said, with none of the humor Mathias would have expected. “I _know_. So we’ll just have to make sure that word doesn’t leak out, won’t we? We’re not going to spread it around, neither is the rest of the crew, all the other prisoners are gone, who’s going to talk about it?”

“ _He will!_ ” Sweete’s voice was just short of a shout.

“I’ll ask him not to.”

There was a long pause before Sweete said, “I won’t let you ruin this crew.”

A slam, as if someone had struck the surface of the desk. “This isn’t a debate!” Flynn roared. Then, at lower volume but no less vehement, “I have made a decision and I expect to be obeyed, is that clear?” No answer. “Is. That. Clear.”

A beat passed. “Aye, Captain.”

“Good. And Sweete - if he has an ‘accident’, I’m just going to assume it was you, and you won’t like the consequences. Again: is that clear?”

“Aye.”

“Get out.”

Mathias backed away from the door, but Sweete didn’t slam it open as he left. He also didn’t close it behind him, and Mathias had to pass the doorway to go back the way he’d come. He couldn’t resist looking into the office.

Flynn sat bowed over the desk, elbows on the surface and his hands buried in his hair. Mathias stopped where he was, staring, until Flynn sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He turned to a cabinet on the wall and Mathias hurried away.

He got back to the brig, locked the cell behind him, secreted his tools again, and lay down on the bunk with his back to the door. Less than five minutes later, the outer door opened and Flynn came to stand outside the bars. “Mathias,” he said.

Mathias pretended to stir.

* * *

Flynn was a bit miffed that no one else took his extremely cogent and well-founded concerns about the void portal seriously, but he knew how to be professional - and he arrived in the Zandalari treasury with no extra appendages and feeling no more mad than usual, so he supposed it had come out all right. They emerged at one end of a long, broad hallway, separated into notional chambers by buttresses that protruded from the walls with gates blocking the openings. From the sketchy map they’d studied before leaving, the treasury was a square of halls surrounding a central chamber that had access from all four sides, and all anyone knew was that the Abyssal Sceptre was in here _somewhere_.

“We proceed quickly and quietly. Emphasis on _quietly_ ,” said Shaw. He had the mock Sceptre slung across his back like a particularly inefficient sword-carry.

The champion murmured an acknowledgement as she scanned the chamber. Her giant grey spotted cat stretched and yawned, showing off its truly impressive saber fangs.

“You won’t even know I’m here,” Flynn replied.

“And we don’t. touch. anything. Do you understand, Captain?”

“You’re coming in loud and clear, mate,” said Flynn. He and Shaw didn’t use given names; Flynn was honestly not sure he could take it, so he’d never brought the subject up. “How about - wait.” A flicker of movement caught his eye and he turned to look more carefully at the massive stone statue that loomed over the chamber. Or possibly _not_ just a statue. “Did - did that golem just move?”

“I think you might be right, Captain. We should check it out,” said Shaw, as the champion nocked an arrow.

The golem stepped ponderously away from the wall. “Yep, definitely moving!”

“Take it down!” Shaw snapped, and vanished. A split second later he appeared behind the golem and stabbed it - in the arse, which was as high as he could reach and still have good leverage, and Flynn would laugh about that _later_. To Flynn’s surprise, Shaw’s daggers didn’t break, nor turn on the stone.

The golem rounded on Shaw, and that meant there was nothing for it; Flynn charged. A green-fletched arrow whined past him as he went and the champion’s cat roared as it bounded into the fray.

Between him, Shaw, and the champion - Flynn couldn’t remember her name, something-iel, which didn’t narrow things down much when it came to elves - they could put out a lot of damage, and the cat kept the golem’s attention by dint of aggressive growling whenever it looked likely to try to hit something else; it didn’t take long before the golem staggered and toppled over with an ear-splitting crash.

Flynn huffed. “So much for quietly. This is going to be an exciting trip.”

Shaw, sheathing his daggers, said, “This area is secure - for now. We should move quickly.”

As they approached the first pair of buttresses, the remaining length of the hallway essentially burst into flame. Fire crawled over the floor and jetted from the walls, and in a few places balls or bolts or sheets of lightning added variety. Flynn stopped walking and said brightly, “Look at this obviously safe room. We should just run right in!”

Shaw glanced at him sidelong and said, “There is lightning on the floor and fire in the hallway after this, Fairwind.”

“Sarcasm? What’s that?” Flynn muttered, making a mental note that Shaw’s sense of humour went out the window when he was under stress or on-mission. The champion met his eyes and smirked, the expression odd on her agelessly ancient face.

“There’s probably a control switch,” said Shaw. “Can either of you see one?”

It turned out the champion could, though getting to it was no trivial endeavour. The entire length of the hallway was like that - dodging gouts of flame and bolts of lightning to reach the switches that would turn them off, occasionally enlivened by attacks from creepy floating mask … things. After the third gate Flynn put his hands on his hips.

“Who the blazes designs this stuff, anyway?” he complained.

“Fairwind,” said Shaw.

Flynn ignored him. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re getting points for style, but isn’t it all a bit complicated?”

“Fairwind.”

“Imagine having to navigate flaming doom every time you wanted to grab some anchor weed from your deposit box!”

“ _Fairwind!_ ”

“What?”

“I know I can’t stop you talking, but can you talk _while_ we move on?”

From the champion’s direction came a sound suspiciously like a snort. Flynn turned to glare at her and was met with an expression of perfect innocence.

“Ugh,” he said.

They turned, dodged more fire, and got halfway down the hall before they got to have another fight; Flynn was beginning to get tired, both of floating mask spirits and just in general. Shaw glanced around. “Two exits from this room,” he said, and headed for the one that would take them towards the next corner.

“Hang on a second, we should head through this way,” said Flynn.

Shaw looked, and said flatly, “Towards the piles of gold and obvious riches just pouring from the treasury.”

“Well, yeah! If the Sceptre is that valuable, it’d be in there, right? Let’s go!” He set out; a moment later Shaw followed.

More fighting and another gate later, they were approaching the gold-filled central chamber and Flynn’s palms were beginning to itch when Shaw barked, “ _Stop_!”

“What are you -” Flynn began, and then the giant, animate, very vaguely humanoid pile of gold and jewels entered his line of sight. “Oh. That’s … not something I expected.” They turned and hurried back the way they’d come. “Was that a sodding _jewelry elemental_?” Flynn asked the air. No one deigned to answer.

Neither Flynn nor Shaw were bothering to sheathe their blades any longer, and the champion had taken to carrying an arrow on the string. These things turned out to be advantageous when they re-entered the chamber to find another huge statue lumbering across it towards them. “Well, that’s a big problem,” said Flynn.

“Quit the chatter and help us take it down, Fairwind!”

“Like I’d let you have all the fun,” Flynn volleyed back.

They’d developed a routine by now, Shaw opening with a shadowstep so that he, Flynn, and the cat could surround the target while the champion (Ansariel? That wasn’t right.) peppered it with arrows from a distance. This time the cat took a bad hit and went flying; Flynn and Shaw had to toss the golem’s attention back and forth between them until it fell. Once it was down the champion hurried over to her beast where it lay panting and knelt; she bent to press her forehead to the cat’s, murmuring, and a wave of almost-visible energy passed between them. After a moment the cat rolled and sat up. It butted its head into its mistress’s and she scratched it behind the ears, for all the world like a woman petting a household moggie. It was just that in this case the moggie weighed about as much as Flynn did.

Then came another thoroughly-trapped hallway (“Right. The floor is lightning.” “Fewer quips, more focus, Captain.”), featuring a pterrordax statue that blew gales at them as they tried to traverse it, another left-hand turn, and then finally a room with a pedestal in the centre that held what Flynn dearly hoped to be the Abyssal Sceptre.

“I’ll bet both my ships that that thing’s trapped, and as soon as we start trying to disable the traps something will attack us,” he said.

“No bet,” said the champion. “Master Shaw?”

“Hold them off while I work,” said Shaw, advancing on the pedestal as if he expected it to pounce. Flynn didn’t see where he’d produced the set of tools from and it astonished him that Shaw could hide _anything_ in that armour.

“Don’t worry, you can count on us,” he said. Shaw didn’t acknowledge him, going to one knee beside the pedestal.

Sure enough, the moment Shaw applied a lockpick, two more golems rumbled into life. The fight was a bit more effort with one fewer person dealing damage and Flynn’s breath began to come harder. They downed one of the golems and Flynn took his moment of leeway to call, “How’s it going back there? Almost done?”

“It’s a complicated mechanism,” said Shaw, completely calm. “Disabling it requires patience and finesse.”

Flynn froze for a split second and as a result almost failed to dodge a swing, swallowed, and replied, “Finesse a bit faster!”

“Down!” the champion shouted, and Flynn ducked. A bolt of energy sizzled over his head and he cursed, turning to face the new threat, two more floating masks.

It was at this point that Flynn began to feel the situation getting genuinely dicey. “Do you need any help? Tips? I’ve disabled a few traps before.”

“Are a few mystical masks too much for the infamous Flynn Fairwind?”

“While your concern is touching,” said Flynn as he drew his pistol and fired it point-blank into one of the masks, “it'll take more than a few creepy masks and angry stone golems to get the best of me.” Bravado had carried him through worse situations than this in the past. “Come to think of it, an angry stone golem sounds like my last ex.”

“Can we stay focused? I’m almost done with the last set of traps.” Outraged - _he_ had not started this conversational thread - Flynn glared at him. Shaw, of course, didn’t notice. And that was when yet more masks and another of the huge stone golems attacked, so Flynn tucked his outrage away for some other time when he wasn’t at risk of losing any body parts he was fond of.

Flynn was panting and the champion’s cat had lost most of the spring in its step - and both of them had taken some significant if not disabling hits - by the time Shaw exclaimed, “One more … got it!” He stood up, turned, produced a throwing knife from _somewhere_ , and nailed one of the masks directly between its painted eyes. It shuddered in mid-air and fell to the floor as the cat leapt onto the golem’s chest, its front paws spread wide, and bit down on the statue’s neck; the golem collapsed. Flynn skewered a mask at nearly the same moment that one last arrow sank into another. Silence fell.

“The last trap is disarmed,” said Shaw. He turned to survey the litter of inert magical constructs and said, “Hmm. Passable work, Fairwind.”

Flynn blinked and looked at the champion. Far from appearing insulted at not being complimented, she had her lips pressed firmly together in a twitching line as if she were pushing down laughter for all she was worth. Flynn had no idea what in the world could be so funny. “Here,” Shaw continued. He unslung the fake sceptre and held it out to her. “I think you should do the honors. Captain Fairwind and I will watch your back.”

She nodded and went over to the pedestal, decoy in hand. Flynn took a few prudent steps away, just in case there happened to be a trap Shaw hadn’t detected and disabled - not that he thought it at all likely, but better safe than sorry as the saying went. Shaw fell back with him.

The champion reached out to perform the swap and Shaw said, “Careful.”

Flynn elbowed him, halfheartedly because he knew the man couldn’t help himself. “Don’t _worry_. She’s got this.”

She swiped the real Sceptre out of the glowing magic field it floated in and deposited the fake in the same motion. For a moment nothing seemed to happen.

Then the glow winked out and the decoy dropped to the surface of the pedestal with a clatter.

“Oh no,” said Flynn. From their left came the now-familiar rattle of a gate coming down, and then another sound, a jingling like the world’s largest coin purse being shaken, and Flynn turned to face it. The jewelry elemental rounded the corner, paused to take in the situation, and advanced on them. “Now do we worry?” asked Shaw, in a perfectly conversational tone.

“Nope. Nope. Now, we _run_ ,” said Flynn, and suited the action to the words. They had the objective and they were all tired, battered, and running low on interesting party tricks; there was nothing to be gained from fighting the monster and no reason to hang about waiting to be crushed in an avalanche of gold.

He slid to a stop at the corner and took off again as soon as a glance verified that Shaw and the champion (and her cat) were behind him. The jewelry elemental rushed down the corridor, the sound of its coins nearly musical. The damned thing was fast, unfairly fast for something so immense, and Flynn hadn’t been a fan of the void portal at first but when he turned the last corner it looked like the most welcoming thing in the world.

He was most of the way there when behind him there was a bitten-off cry and the champion exclaimed, “Shaw!” Flynn skidded to a stop and turned to see her hauling Shaw to his feet by main force.

“Oh, Abyss take me,” Flynn groaned, and dashed back. Coins pelted down all around him like the world’s most expensive hail. As soon as he got near Shaw pushed the champion away.

“Go, the Scepter has to get out,” he said. The champion hesitated and Shaw snapped, “ _Run!_ ” She turned on her heel and ran, her cat loping at her side.

“You know, we could have used her help,” said Flynn, as he draped Shaw’s arm over his shoulder. There seemed to be something wrong with Shaw’s leg, but diagnosis could wait until they weren’t in danger of being the first people ever to die of too _much_ money.

“Just run for it,” said Shaw through gritted teeth. At the end of the hall the champion and her cat vanished through the portal.

“Don’t be more of an arse than you have to,” Flynn retorted. They staggered three steps towards the portal before Flynn realised that trying to do it this way was going to get them killed. “Right!” He stopped and scooped Shaw into his arms; Shaw emitted a startled yelp that Flynn would have found hilarious under any other circumstances.

He couldn’t hit top speed burdened with an entire other adult man’s weight, but at least he could go faster than they’d have managed with Shaw on his own feet. And really, the jewelry elemental hadn’t even quite made it to within arms’ reach when they fell through the plane of the portal and were abruptly somewhere else, so it all worked out in the end.

Several hours later, when healing had been applied, artifacts delivered, and reports filed, Flynn sat in the mess tent of the Alliance outpost and contemplated getting blind drunk. It wasn’t something he did very often - certainly not nearly as often as he liked people to think - but he felt like it might be warranted this once.

“Is this seat taken?”

Flynn looked up to discover Shaw standing next to the table with a look on his face Flynn couldn’t identify. “Feel free,” he said. Shaw took one of the other camp stools and for a long time just sat there. Flynn, at a loss, let him.

“Thank you,” said Shaw finally.

“Don’t mention it,” said Flynn. “It’s just a seat.”

Shaw narrowed his eyes and said, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Don’t mention that either.” Shaw opened his mouth and Flynn hurried on. “Look, I knew we could make it, right? If I hadn’t I’d have left you.”

Another long pause. “No, you wouldn’t have.” Shaw stood back up. “I’ll see you back in Boralus, Captain.”

* * *

Mathias lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Tomorrow, they’d make port in Booty Bay; tomorrow he’d leave the _Revenge_ and set foot on solid ground for the first time in almost three months. Tomorrow he’d start his journey back to Stormwind.

After tomorrow, he’d never see Flynn again.

He closed his eyes, picturing the infectious grin. The look in Flynn’s eyes when he was about to tell a truly horrible joke. The way his shirt would pull taut across his shoulders -

Mathias pushed his sleep pants down his thighs, imagining what it would feel like to bury his fingers in the mane of Flynn’s hair, and wrapped his hand around his cock. It twitched, rapidly hardening, and he rolled his hips. Flynn’s hands wouldn’t be soft; he’d have calluses, rough spots. But he’d be gentle, at least as long as Mathias wanted him to be. He’d want to learn all the things that made Mathias sigh and gasp and moan.

Mathias let himself fall into a fantasy, in which the hand stroking his cock was Flynn’s, in which Flynn lay on his side so he could murmur in Mathias’s ear. _Do you like that?_

Mathias nodded and shoved his hips up into Flynn’s grip, his breath going rough and fast. “Yes, yes,” he muttered.

His imaginary Flynn chuckled. _I love to watch you like this_ , he said. He pinched Mathias’s nipple, drawing a gasp. _Look at you. I could watch you all night. Just like this, never quite going over the edge._

“Oh please,” Mathias said. “Please, please don’t stop.”

 _Well. Since you ask so nicely._ His hand sped up and Mathias bucked. He could feel the pleasure beginning to coil into a knot at the base of his spine.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Yes, oh, Flynn -”

Three things happened in quick succession: the door from the corridor swung open with its characteristic creak; there was a thud as if something small but dense had been dropped; and Flynn said, “Um.”

Mathias’s eyes flew open and he turned his head to see Flynn - real Flynn - standing just inside the door, a heavy green bottle on the deck beside him and a pair of drinking glasses dangling from his fingers. He turned his head to one side, brought his hand up to scratch the nape of his neck, and said, “Sorry, mate, didn’t know you were ... busy.”

Mathias kept his face carefully expressionless, though there was nothing he could do about the flush in his cheeks, and grabbed a handful of blanket to pull it over his crotch. “Accidents happen,” he said, as neutrally as he could manage.

“I’ll just -” Flynn said, taking a step back.

“No, ah - was there something you needed?”

Flynn, still not looking at him, said, “Thought I’d bring down a bottle and we could have a drink, since it’s your last night on board.”

Mathias didn’t usually indulge, but he’d have done far worse to keep Flynn from leaving. “I’d like a drink. If you’d give me just a moment to, um. Get myself -”

“Off?” Flynn said brightly. Struck dumb, Mathias stared and after a moment Flynn said, “You meant dressed, didn’t you. Get yourself dressed. I’m...yeah, do that.” He turned his back.

It took Mathias an unconscionably long time, five seconds at least, to cudgel himself into moving. He sat up, then stood to better pull his sleep pants back up. His cock had apparently not gotten the news that the party was over, and it tented the fabric obscenely. He regarded it severely for a few more seconds before grabbing his shirt, which he’d been using to supplement his pillow. The shirt was loose and long enough to disguise the issue, thank the Light. “Alright,” he said. He took his usual seat on the bunk.

Flynn turned around, bent to retrieve his bottle, and joined Mathias in the cell. “This is the good stuff,” he said, waving the bottle, and at least he sounded mostly recovered from his shock. He sat with his back against the bars and one knee drawn up, and set bottle and glasses down beside him. “Won it at dice from a Pandaren about a year back. I’ve been waiting for a special occasion to try it.”

“My last night on board is a special occasion?” Mathias asked.

“‘Course it is! Who else is there around here to have a decent conversation with? Hope you don’t think I’m going to share this with the likes of Sweete.”

“You need to be careful with him,” Mathias said seriously. “He thinks you’re in his way.”

Flynn shrugged. “I know. But I have enough support in the crew that anything he tries will fail. I just need some time to ease him out.”

Mathias wasn’t sure that was true, but there was a limit to how much he could push. Instead he jerked his chin in the direction of the bottle and said, “How about that drink?”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Flynn said. He made a bit of a production out of uncorking the bottle and sniffing it, and his eyebrows went up. Mathias tried to conceal his amusement. Flynn poured two fingers of whatever it was into each glass, picked one up, and sipped from it. “Well, this is going to be worth the wait,” he said, and rolled forward to offer Mathias the other. “See if you … okay. Okay, no, I can’t do this.”

Mathias froze in the midst of reaching for the glass. “Can’t do what?”

Flynn looked up to meet his eyes and said softly, “Pretend I didn’t hear you say my name.”

Slowly, Mathias sat up straight. “I apologize,” he said. He tried not to let his voice tighten. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to impose myself where I’m not wanted.”

A thoughtful expression settled over Flynn’s face and he studied Mathias for a long moment. “What makes you think you’re not wanted?” Mathias had no idea what to say. Flynn set the glass down and waved up and down Mathias’s body. “I mean, look at your - everything. Tides, why would I not want you?”

It dawned on Mathias then that Flynn didn’t really know him. Flynn knew Mathias Taylor, minor merchant with no one to ransom him; he had never met Mathias Shaw, master assassin, heir-apparent to SI:7 and Stormwind’s knife in the dark. He didn’t know what Mathias really was.

Wrestling with that realization took long enough that Flynn’s expression turned worried. “You don’t - people sometimes wank to things they don’t want in real life, you don’t have to … look, once we make port you’re gone, I promise, you -”

“Flynn.”

“What?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

A slow smile spread over Flynn’s face. He surged up, took Mathias’s face in his hands, and kissed him. Mathias moaned into it and let his eyes flutter closed. By this time tomorrow he’d be miles away from Flynn, so what was the harm in taking what he wanted? He got a grip on Flynn’s waist and slipped one hand to the small of his back to pull him closer. Flynn hummed happily and took Mathias’s wrist, guiding his hand to where his cock strained at the front of his trousers. “Is that for me?” Mathias murmured.

“It is if you want it to be,” Flynn said. He pulled back. Mathias reluctantly opened his eyes. “Is that what you want?” He was still smiling, but the question was serious.

Though it wasn’t in fact quite what Mathias had meant, the idea hit him with the force of a baton to the head and he groaned. “Yes, _Light_ yes.”

“Let’s go to my cabin then,” Flynn said. “This mattress is utter bollocks and besides I didn’t bring anything with me.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t expecting my wildest dreams to come true.”

Mathias got hastily to his feet, the process complicated by having to move Flynn out of the way, and gave him a narrow-eyed look when he laughed.

Flynn held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry, I just - either you’re the best actor in the world or you _really_ want to do this.”

The ever-calculating part of Mathias's mind said _Those things aren't mutually exclusive_ , but rather than say it aloud Mathias grabbed the front of Flynn’s shirt and yanked him into another kiss. “I really want to do this,” he growled when they parted.

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Flynn said. He sounded gratifyingly breathless. “I’ve wanted you since the very first day in my office, Tides help me.”

Mathias was of course aware that some people found him physically attractive, but … “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Flynn sighed and his smile went wry and crooked. “You were my prisoner, Mathias. I’d never have known if you were doing it because you wanted to or because you were afraid of what I’d do if you tried to stop me. There are some places even a pirate should draw a line.”

Mathias had to take a moment to control his breathing. “Your cabin. Right now.”

Flynn ran his thumb down along the line of Mathias’s jaw and said, “Anything you want.”

The trip to Flynn’s cabin was considerably slowed by a mutual reluctance to stop touching each other, and at one point Flynn pulled him around a corner so that a passing crewperson wouldn’t see them, but they made it. As soon as the door was closed and latched Mathias shoved Flynn into it and pinned him while they kissed again. He rutted against Flynn’s thigh, the friction maddeningly good but not good _enough_. Flynn broke the kiss and chuckled when Mathias tried to chase him down. “No, no, hold up,” he said. He plucked at Mathias’s sleeve. “Take these off. I can’t fuck you with all this in the way.”

Mathias forced himself to step back. The calculator shrieked at him that he couldn’t _do_ this; Mathias ignored it in favor of peeling his shirt over his head and shoving his sleep pants down enough that he could step out of them. Flynn meanwhile shed two layers of shirt and made a start at unlacing his trousers.

“What do you have that we can use?” Mathias asked as Flynn sat down to take his boots off.

“Over there,” Flynn said, jerking his chin in the direction of a cabinet. It, like all the other furniture in the cabin, was bolted to the deck. “Middle shelf, blue pot.”

Mathias opened the cabinet door and plucked out the ceramic pot. He popped the latch on the lid and immediately recognized the smell of the stuff, floral and slightly sweet; you could buy it from any apothecary or alchemist. “Good choice,” he said.

Flynn looked up from his boots and grinned. “Never know when a handsome lad might follow me home. Or when one won’t and I’ll be left to my own devices.”

Mathias pictured that and made a profoundly embarrassing noise.

“Oh _real_ ly,” Flynn said, yanking off one boot.

“Yes,” Mathias said, “so I’m going to lie down and think about it.”

“Don’t think too hard, I don’t want to miss the fun.”

“Better hurry then.” Flynn’s bed was actually a bed, not a bunk, covered in a riot of rich fabrics in brilliant colors. Mathias tossed several layers out of the way before excavating plain linen sheets that would be easier to wash than the heavier blankets; he stretched out, feeling the pleasant weight of Flynn’s eyes on him. He didn’t like to be watched, but Flynn was different in this way as in so many others.

He dipped his fingers into the pot, thinking to get a jump on the proceedings, but Flynn said, “Let me do that, if you don’t mind.”

Mathias turned his head and discovered Flynn shoving his trousers and drawers down his legs. “That’s acceptable, I suppose.”

“Acceptable, is it?” Flynn said, in mock offense, as he finished divesting himself. He crossed the distance to the bed in two strides and climbed onto it, hovering over Mathias on hands and knees. “We can do better than acceptable.” He leaned down to kiss Mathias again and Mathias shivered and wrapped one hand around the back of his neck.

After an interval which managed to be simultaneously too long and too short, Flynn sat up. “I need that,” he said. Mathias handed him the pot. They had to shuffle for a few moments to rearrange themselves, Mathias with a pillow under his hips and Flynn kneeling between his spread legs. Flynn ran one hand up Mathias’s thigh and said, “When you’re ready, do you want it like this or would you rather be on your front?”

There really wasn’t any choice at all. “Like this,” Mathias said.

“That’s what I hoped you would say,” Flynn said, sounding entirely too sincere. It should have made Mathias want to close his eyes, try to hide.

It didn’t.

Instead he watched Flynn coat his fingers in the salve, watched Flynn’s hand vanish between his legs. The first touch was cool but the salve had the virtue of warming quickly.

For several minutes they didn’t speak. Mathias let his eyes drift closed after all, the better to sink into the sensation. Flynn’s finger rubbed, then pressed, and when it breached him Mathias’s breath hitched.

“How long’s it been since you did this?” Flynn asked.

At least a decade since he’d felt it acceptable to let anyone fuck him; almost three years since he’d had sex with anything but his own hand. Mathias sighed. “Too long.”

For a moment there was no reply and Mathias pried his eyes open to discover Flynn watching him with an unidentifiable expression. “Have to make sure it’s worth the wait, then,” Flynn said finally. Mathias decided it was a puzzle he could work on later and closed his eyes again.

By the time Flynn was up to two fingers Mathias was panting, helped along by Flynn’s preternaturally perfect aim; he struck the most sensitive spot inside Mathias seemingly every time he wanted to, which wasn’t every thrust or even every other. If there were a pattern at all Mathias couldn’t detect it and the unpredictability made him frantic. He shuddered and said, “Get _on_ with it.” The words emerged in a gasp but he was well past caring about that.

Flynn twisted his fingers and Mathias jolted. “Don’t rush me,” Flynn said. From the sound of it he was smirking but Mathias couldn’t be bothered to open his eyes and check. “This is tricky. Takes patience. Finesse.”

“Then _finesse_ a bit faster,” Mathias said.

Flynn hummed thoughtfully and Mathias heard a rustle of movement, and then Flynn’s lips closed around his cock and all thought fled. His whole world narrowed down to _hot_ and _wet_ and the way Flynn’s tongue moved. Mathias dug one hand into Flynn’s hair and clenched the other into a fist. “Flynn, _Flynn_ ,” he said, half a moan.

Flynn pulled back and said, “Sounds even better now that you’re saying it for real.” Before Mathias could work up a protest he dove back down.

Some formless time later Flynn’s fingers slowed, stopped, drew out of Mathias’s body. Mathias opened his eyes and succeeded in focusing as Flynn moved up, stroking up and down his own cock to slick it. He bent, supporting his weight on one hand, and murmured, “Do you still want it like this?”

“Yes,” Mathias said. “Yes, like this, now. _Please_.”

“Well, since you ask so nicely,” Flynn purred, and Mathias moaned as the blunt head of his cock pushed into him. He hooked one leg around the back of Flynn’s thighs and pulled him down into a kiss as he bottomed out. For a moment they didn’t move. Mathias couldn’t get control of his breathing but he didn’t give a single damn.

“Mathias,” Flynn said.

Mathias gulped enough air to say, “Move. Please move.” He could feel a hectic flush spreading across his cheeks.

Flynn nodded and pulled almost all the way out, then slid in again, slow and relentless. They both groaned. Flynn did it again and Mathias felt his eyes begin to close.

“No, look at me,” Flynn said, his voice gone rough. His eyes were wide, the blue-green of open water in the wake of a storm, and Mathias couldn’t look away. Flynn thrust again. “You’re so - tell me how you like it.”

Mathias shook his head.

“Tell me,” Flynn insisted. The words caught in Mathias’s throat and he couldn’t understand why. “Mathias, _tell me_.”

“Harder,” Mathias blurted. It felt dangerous to ask for anything more than what he was already getting - what if it was too much, what if _he_ was too much?

But Flynn said, “Anything you want,” and braced one hand on Mathias’s shoulder, the better to hold him in place for the snap of his hips. In turn Mathias wrapped his arms around Flynn and held on.

“Please, please.” He knew that he shouldn’t be _begging_ , that he should be appalled by how close he was to outright whimpering, but what did that matter when Flynn was everywhere, around him and above him and _inside_ him?

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop.”

Flynn laughed, ragged and breathless. “That’s not - I won’t. I won’t.” He shook his head like he needed to clear it and said, “Can you come like this?”

Mathias went still in the grip of unreasoning fear. “I don’t … know?” he stuttered, and it was a lie; he couldn’t, and if that was what Flynn wanted -

“Here,” Flynn said. He held up the pot of salve, retrieved from wherever it had been, and set it down again when Mathias could reach it. “Touch yourself, I want to watch. I want to see what you look like when you come.”

That was an instruction Mathias was more than happy to follow. Fortunately Flynn had left the pot open because Mathias didn’t think he had the dexterity to deal with it one-handed just now and he was damned if he’d let go of Flynn completely.

The knot of his arousal had never fully unwound and the slick touch of his hand only tightened it. His eyes wanted to close but Flynn had told him to look so he didn’t let them. He stroked himself in time with the rhythm of Flynn’s thrusts, aware enough to keep his voice down but completely unable to stop himself gasping _Oh, oh Flynn, oh yes, please_ , repetitive nonsense but Flynn seemed to be pleased.

“Yes,” he panted. “Yes, I want to see you, let me see you.”

Mathias nodded, the knot tightening, the tension singing in his bones, and he could feel it when he passed the point of no return.

“There it is,” Flynn said. The sound of his voice was the last tiny push and suddenly the knot snapped. Bliss swept through Mathias like wildfire across a field of long grass. He tried to curl forward and met Flynn’s mouth instead, not kissing him so much as swallowing his moans. He couldn’t _breathe_ and he didn’t care.

Then it was over and Mathias slumped.

“Tides,” Flynn said softly. He thrust again and Mathias twitched. “Is it too much? I can -”

“ _No don’t stop_ ,” Mathias said, urgent.

“Are you sure?”

Mathias couldn’t quite work up the wherewithal to roll his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“Alright then,” Flynn said. He adjusted his grip on Mathias’s shoulder and Mathias let the thrusts punch tiny noises from his throat. He made no attempt to keep track of time but it wasn’t much longer before Flynn bit his lip and ground out, “Mathias -” and his hips jerked as he came, groaning.

Then they were both still for a long moment.

“Tides help me,” Flynn said into the space between them, “maybe I’m not going to let you off the ship after all.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth his expression flashed to appalled and Mathias had to laugh. After a beat Flynn let his head drop and joined him. “I didn’t -”

“I know,” Mathias said.

Flynn pulled away and collapsed on his back, tugging Mathias with him. “We should clean up a bit. In a minute.”

Mathias draped an arm across Flynn’s midsection and propped his chin on his other hand. “Take a minute, clean up, and then I should go back to the brig.”

Flynn craned his neck to look over his own chest and said, “What for? You may have noticed the bed’s big enough for two.”

“It wouldn’t be a good idea for me to walk out of this cabin in the morning,” Mathias said, thinking wistfully of sleeping with company. That had been even longer than anything else they’d just done.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” Flynn said.

Mathias sighed. “That’s why. It won’t look good, and you know that as well as I do.”

“But,” Flynn said, and Mathias sat up a bit. Flynn met his eyes, sighed, and let his head fall back. “You’re right.”

“I wish I weren’t,” Mathias said.

“Me too.” For a few moments Flynn was quiet; then he said, “Come up here and kiss me.”

Mathias did.

* * *

As a sop to Sweete - not that Mathias thought it had changed the man’s opinion much - he’d left behind everything with resale value; the plain canvas bag over his shoulder was much lighter than what he’d been travelling with when the _Revenge_ had waylaid the _Good Shepherd_. Fortunately he’d had a few minutes alone with his luggage to retrieve his lockpicks, daggers, and codebook, and the empty compartments they’d been hidden in were unusual but not unheard-of for a civilian’s gear if the pirates chanced upon them.

The sun was straight overhead when Mathias walked down the gangplank. Standing on the dock, not having to compensate for the movement of the ship, was a profoundly odd experience; he’d never been at sea for so long before and passionately hoped never to be again.

He kept going until he could stop without being in the way of the dockworkers, almost all of them goblins, who swarmed the _Revenge_ , and turned. Flynn, trailing him, stopped as well and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“How are you not too hot in that thing?” Mathias asked.

“I am,” Flynn said with a shrug. “But it looks impressive when I walk.”

Mathias laughed, but amusement didn’t last. “Flynn,” he said, and didn’t know where to go from there.

Flynn sighed and said, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered piracy?”

For a split second Mathias allowed himself to imagine it: dropping his codebook into the bay, turning around, getting back on the ship, letting Pathonia believe he’d been killed. He _could_ do it.

But what would happen to Stormwind if he did? What would happen to SI:7 and the agents who worked for it? Pathonia wouldn’t live forever and no one else had the training he did: not just in stealth and knifework and tradecraft, but in how to plan and manage an operation and handle unruly agents and keep the shape of the world in his mind. And that wasn’t even considering the explanations that would have to be made.

He opened his mouth but before he could construct a reply Flynn said, “I know you can’t.” He offered half a smile.

“You could come with me,” Mathias said impulsively. The many, many problems that would cause seemed insignificant. Flynn would fit right in to SI:7, as long as Mathias could impress upon him the need to not get smart with Pathonia.

“I’m a sailor,” Flynn said.

“Stormwind has a harbor.” He shook his head. “But I know you can’t.”

“Aren’t we a pair,” Flynn said. Mathias met his eyes, eyes like the sea after a storm, and he’d never know which one of them moved first. At least he was still Mathias Taylor so it didn’t matter who saw them, kissing on the dock in Booty Bay.

The kiss might have gone on indefinitely if someone hadn’t shouted “Captain!” from the deck of the _Revenge_. Flynn straightened up and looked over his shoulder to call, “On my way!” Then at normal volume, “I have to go handle - whatever it is.”

Mathias nodded. “Fair winds and following seas, Flynn.”

“Tidemother guard you, Mathias.”

Then Flynn was gone, jogging back towards his ship, and Mathias forced himself not to watch him go. He hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and started walking. He could go to the gryphon roost and use his SI:7 credentials to get a flight back to the city - or he could do it the slow, civilian way, and let Pathonia think for a little longer that her investment had been wasted.

Mathias headed for the inn.

* * *

“Shaw,” said Flynn, knocking on the stateroom door. “Are you decent?”

“Come in, Captain,” Shaw replied.

Flynn swung the door open, saying cheerfully, “That doesn’t answer the -” and then his gaze fell on Shaw and he stopped in his tracks.

The _Bold Arva’s_ cabins were small at best and the bunk on which Shaw sat took up a substantial portion of the floorspace. He was leaning forward, elbows braced on his thighs and his hands clasped, looking up at Flynn, just like Flynn had seen him dozens of times. “Captain?”

“Your eyes were brown,” Flynn heard himself say.

Confusion dashed across Shaw’s face for only a moment, followed by a careful blankness. “Come in and shut the door,” he said. Flynn did as he was told, fumbling a bit because he couldn’t look away from Shaw.

Couldn’t look away from _Mathias_.

“Your eyes were brown,” he repeated. “Your hair was brown, and you were on my ship for almost three months, dye would have grown out.”

Shaw sighed and said, “It was an illusion. I had about another two weeks before it would have started to wear off. Sit down before you fall.”

Flynn collapsed onto the other end of the bunk, still staring. Shaw gazed steadily back while Flynn groped for his scattered wits. “Why didn’t I recognise you?” he said at last, hearing the plaintive tone in his own voice.

“One of the reasons I keep my moustache like this is because it’s a very distinctive, obvious feature. Remove it, and to most observers I might as well be a different person,” said Shaw. “Between that and the changes in coloration, it’s hardly a surprise.”

Flynn nodded, and in the middle of nodding burst out, “ _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ”

Finally Shaw looked away and Flynn saw him swallow. “I didn’t think you’d want to be reminded.”

“But I,” Flynn said, backed up and started again, “but _we_ -”

“It was one night, and don’t think I don’t understand that letting me go was what set Sweete against you for good. And you never talk about what you did back then, unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’ll tell people things you know _about_ pirates, but you don’t mention being one.”

“I told the emissary Sweete used to be my first mate,” Flynn argued, to cover the fact that ‘one night’ stung more than a little. As if he couldn’t still reliably raise a stand by remembering Mathias beneath him, his head tossing on the pillow and a hand on his own prick, chanting _oh yes oh Flynn_. As if that one night wasn’t the standard Flynn had measured every other lover he’d had since against.

“That’s because you wouldn’t jeopardize a mission by leaving out vital information.” Shaw - but Flynn couldn’t think of him as Shaw, not anymore. Mathias said, “I know what it’s like to have things you want to forget. I couldn’t bring up bad memories just because I -”

He stopped talking abruptly.

“Because you what?”

“It’s not important.”

“Mathias. Because you _what_?” In the heat of the moment Flynn barely registered that it was the first time he'd said the name aloud since the docks in Booty Bay.

“It doesn’t _matter_ ,” said Mathias. He cleared his throat and went on, in a quite close approximation of the voice he used for business, “I’m sorry this happened so early in the trip - I’m sorry it happened at all. You can tell the cook I’ll take my meals in here so you don’t have to look at me, if you like.”

“Don’t have to look at you,” Flynn repeated. “Don’t have to _look_ at you? Tidemother’s tits, Mathias, I’ve spent every damned day since you walked off my ship _wanting_ to look at you! And don’t think I didn’t notice you not answering the question!” His head spun with a bewildering mix of anger and understanding; he still wasn’t by any means happy that Mathias hadn’t told him, but it was glaringly obvious that for some incomprehensible reason Mathias thought _Flynn_ didn’t want _him_.

“No, you haven’t,” said Mathias, still carefully businesslike. “You’ve been wanting to see Mathias Taylor, who is not an assassin nor a spy and who hasn’t spent the last two years deceiving you.” He sounded so matter-of-fact that it took Flynn a few moments to understand what had actually been said.

“What in the name of Neptulon’s left nut does any of that have to do with it?” he sputtered. “I don’t like it that you didn’t tell me, but okay, you had your reasons.” Technically, Mathias had never even lied; he’d just neglected to mention a few things. “It was you. _You_ spent all that time rolling your eyes at my jokes and talking about whatever happened to come to mind. _You_ let me take you to pieces in my cabin. _You_ asked me to come back to Stormwind! It _was_ you.”

“You didn’t know me then,” Mathias snapped, and in a way Flynn was glad for it; anger gave him something to work with. “You thought I was a merchant, a civilian.”

“So you’re not. What difference does that make?”

“I’m not _just_ not a civilian! I’m the head of SI:7, I’m a spy, I’m an _assassin!_ ”

Flynn rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could possibly manage and said, “Remind me again how we met.”

“What?”

“Because it seems to me that we met when I captured your ship in order to hold you and everyone else aboard her for ransom. _I was a pirate_ , Mathias! D’you think I’ve never killed a man for his gold? At least when you kill people it’s for a reason.”

He’d thought it a good point - obviously, or he wouldn’t have said it - but from Mathias’s reaction you’d have been forgiven for thinking he’d been hit over the head with something. He blinked hard, opened his mouth, closed it again, and just sat there, staring fixedly over Flynn’s shoulder for long enough that Flynn started to worry he’d broken something.

Finally Flynn said carefully, “You alright there?”

Mathias blinked again and dragged his focus back to the real world with visible effort. “I never thought of it that way,” he said.

Flynn raised his eyebrows and said, “I noticed.”

“No, you don’t - it’s my job. It’s always been my job, always, my whole life.” Flynn recalled a few mentions of a grandmother who’d brought Mathias up in the family business, and didn’t _that_ take on a whole new light now. “I never liked it, but I still did it.”

“What, it would’ve been better if you’d enjoyed killing people?”

“Of course not!”

Flynn shrugged. “I became a pirate because no one else would have me, no one legitimate wanted to take on the orphan of a woman hanged for a thief.”

“Your mother was hanged?”

“I was eight,” said Flynn. “Spent almost two years working for the gangs in the Dampwick Ward before I ran for it, and by that point I didn’t have much choice. From the sound of it, you didn’t either, just for different reasons.”

“Pathonia was a thief too. She got caught one time too many and they told her she could die, or she could work for them.” Mathias smiled, a small wry thing. “The joke was on them. She ended up in charge.”

Flynn sighed and slumped. “It gives me the pip that you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, apology accepted. But the question is, what do we do now?”

For a second Mathias didn’t reply. “Right now, I have a mission. Sylvanas needs to be found and stopped.” He looked down at his hands. “But when we’re back in Boralus - I’d like to - can I take you to dinner?”

“You want me to wait till we’re back in Boralus? Mate, we haven’t even hit Zandalar yet.”

“I have a job to do.”

“And you can’t do anything about it at this exact moment,” Flynn pointed out, quite reasonably he thought.

After another brief pause, Mathias said, “You know, you’re right.” He stood, and moved to stand in front of Flynn, who sat up straight again. Mathias tilted his head a bit to the side in an inquiry that was about as blatant as Flynn thought he was going to get - which was to say, most people wouldn’t have noticed it was happening, but that was Mathias for you.

Flynn smiled, took Mathias’s hands, and pulled, moving back away from the edge of the bunk as he did, until Mathias got the hint. He ended up kneeling over Flynn’s lap, his eyes intent. “I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you too, but you got that already.”

“I did,” said Mathias, and bent to kiss him. He smelled spicy and clean and Flynn was struck with a vivid, full-body memory that made him shudder. Mathias didn’t seem to mind.

Eventually they parted for breath and Mathias gave a thoughtful hum. “What were you coming in to tell me?”

“I’ve absolutely no idea,” said Flynn honestly. “Whatever it was, it can wait - no, really, if it were important I’d remember.”

For a moment he was sure Mathias was going to argue anyway, but then he shook his head and said, “Alright.”

* * *

Pathonia didn’t notice him until she had sat down at her desk, and Mathias felt a twinge of satisfaction when he could read surprise on her face for an instant. “I wasn’t expecting to see you for a while,” she said.

“Were you expecting to see me at all?” Mathias didn’t bother making the question sharp.

“We have some large operations wrapping up in the next few months,” Pathonia said. “After that we’d have had the resources to spare for a search and rescue.”

“You have a lot of faith in the word of a freebooter. Fairwind might have killed me.”

“I had him looked into. For a pirate he’s remarkably soft - only as cruel as he has to be, and he keeps his word.” She gave a minimal shrug. “You were fine. Did you kill him?”

“He let me off in Booty Bay,” Mathias said. He was rewarded with another expression of surprise, there and gone.

“How did you manage that?” She sounded only mildly curious.

“I let him fuck me,” Mathias said flatly. “Blew him a few times. He thinks with his dick, at least when he’s getting it wet.”

Pathonia let out a huff of laughter. “See, I told you that would come in handy. All right. I want your preliminary report on my desk by this time tomorrow. Dismissed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mathias said.

* * *

Flynn looked up from the powder barrel. On the shore, Mathias had drawn his daggers, and Flynn’s heart lurched in his chest. The odds weren’t survivable, not even for Mathias; no one could stand alone against that many. A paladin in plate with hammer and shield would have been overwhelmed eventually, let alone a man in leather armour with only two daggers. Even stealth wasn’t going to save him, not on the sand against a group with the numbers to form a solid wall around him.

To make matters worse, the charging trolls wore intricate golden armour rather than the black-and-white of the foragers earlier: royal guards. They’d been made; the Zandalari, and by extension the Horde, would know there’d been an excursion into their territory.

On shore, Mathias lifted his daggers over his head - and then carefully, obviously placed them on the sand.

“No,” Flynn whispered, “no, you can’t _surrender_.” Mathias was their man and Flynn didn’t care how many trolls he had to fire on to save him. He lifted his hand, ready to give the order, but Mathias turned his back on the guards pelting toward him.

“Run,” he called, his voice clear over the sound of the surf and the shouts of the trolls. “Go, Flynn, _run_.”

“Do we fire, sir?” asked Nailor, all but vibrating with tension.

Flynn swallowed hard. “No. No, don’t fire.” He cast a glance around, only to find Melli already dashing up towards the wheel. “Melli, get us out of here,” he ordered, willing his voice not to crack.

She halted mid-career and turned, her face a mask of disbelief. “But Shaw -”

“He knows what he’s doing, we have to trust him on that,” said Flynn grimly. “Go! It’ll do him no good if we’re taken too.”

As if to punctuate the order, a Zandalari arrow plunged into the railing inches from Nailor’s arm and stood quivering. More followed immediately, peppering the deck like hail. Melli stood at the wheel, her eyes closed, hands reaching out to conduct the waves like an orchestra. Flynn didn’t dare break her concentration; he dodged arrows while keeping an eye out for any that might hit her.

The guns were loaded. They could still fire. But Mathias had surrendered and given his order, and Flynn remembered the treasury all too well - the mission was more important than the man, at least to Mathias. If they fired, they’d have to kill every single one of the Zandalari; if even one escaped, they’d have broken the armistice, made things infinitely worse, and potentially put Mathias’s life in danger.

The _Bold Arva_ slid away from shore, Melli’s power supplemented by the outgoing tide. Flynn stood with his hands on the rail and watched Mathias get smaller and smaller, and his grip tightened to the point of pain. Behind him the crew began to stand down from battle stations, but Flynn couldn’t move. _Oh Tidemother, I marooned him after all_ , he thought, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Renzik knocked on the door frame and Mathias looked up from the weekly précis for the king. “Got the next chunk of the crook overview,” Shiv said.

“My inbox,” Mathias said. “Which section is this?”

“Piracy,” Renzik replied, as he laid the folder in the requested spot. “Nothing much going on. The Bloodsail are quiet, that’ll make Revilgaz happy. The shakeup in Kul Tiras seems to be dying down too. That Sweete guy came out on top but he didn’t manage to actually kill Fairwind so who knows?”

Mathias let mild interest color his voice. “Too bad he won. Fairwind’s not vicious like Sweete is.”

Renzik rolled his eyes, an operation that involved his entire head and both shoulders, and said, “Sweete’s calling them the Irontide now. Pretentious much?”

Mathias gave a huff of laughter. “Thanks, Shiv. I’ll read over it when I’m done with this. Shut the door on your way out.”

“Glad I could help,” Renzik said with a casual wave, and left.

Once the latch had engaged, Mathias set his quill down. He put his elbows on the desk, careful to avoid any wet ink, and laced his fingers together at the back of his neck.

For a long time he stared at the desk and breathed.

* * *

When the messenger showed up to inform him that Mathias was being released, Flynn was drunk.

This couldn’t be called a matter of bad timing; he’d spent the vast majority of his waking hours since the _Arva_ had made port in Boralus more or less drunk, and the messenger would have had to have exceptionally _good_ timing to catch him even arguably sober. As a rule Flynn didn’t drink anything approaching as much as he implied for the sake of the Flynn Fairwind, Charming Drunken Buffoon act, but he’d discovered on the frantic flight back from Zandalar that a certain level of intoxication kept him from curling into a ball weeping every time he thought about Mathias standing on the beach alone while Flynn _left him_ -

Well. In any case, he’d been drinking a lot more than usual. But once he knew Mathias’s projected arrival date, Flynn set about drying out. It wouldn’t do to welcome Mathias home while soused.

He had a vague expectation that Mathias would get back to Stormwind, do whatever official things he needed to do, and then send a note or come to Flynn’s borrowed flat himself. So on the eve of the appointed day, Flynn was entirely flabbergasted to get another message, inviting him to wait for Mathias’s ship at the harbour - with _King Wrynn and the Lord Admiral._ He had to read the note three times to be sure he wasn’t misinterpreting out of his throttled desire to see Mathias as soon as humanly possible.

He had no idea what one wore to wait on a dock with a king, not that it mattered anyway since he only had so much of his clothing with him, and even if he’d had it all his major choice on any given morning was whether or not to wear a shirt with darns that showed when he had his coat on. He ended up deciding on one that did have a visible mend, but he’d been told by more than one person that it set off his eyes and Flynn wasn’t in any way above using what he had.

The day dawned clear and Flynn thought that the vrykul cargo hauler that Mathias was coming back on would at least have decent winds for the last leg of the trip. He and the king and the Lord Admiral (and a half dozen guards, because of the king and the Lord Admiral) arrived at the reserved slip as the _Thorim’s Hammer_ passed the cluster of guardian islands marking the notional boundary of Stormwind Harbour and settled in to wait.

King Wrynn seemed to be a great kid. Flynn supposed he shouldn’t think of the High King as a kid, but it was hard to look at him and not notice that he probably only had to shave every few days. Still, he wasn’t even half as arrogant as might be expected from someone in his position and Flynn rather liked him. He liked the Lord Admiral too, and felt a little bad about the number of times he’d sung “Daughter of the Sea” to impress someone in a tavern.

That being said, he couldn’t maintain a conversation with either of them, and after a few tries they fell to quiet discussion with each other and left Flynn to stare out over the water at the approaching ship. He kept having to remind himself to blink.

When he caught his first glimpse of Mathias’s hair, flaming in the sun, Flynn was sure it was wishful thinking, but as the _Thorim’s Hammer_ drew closer he was able to make him out; Mathias stood at the rail with one hand gripping a rope, wearing his armour, daggers at his sides, and something tight and fearful in the centre of Flynn’s chest unwound.

Despite great provocation Flynn did not barge into helping the dockers tie off the lines when the vrykul ship finally reached its slip, nor did he leap for the rail and vault it despite being _almost_ certain he could make it without going into the drink. He even let the king and Lord Admiral Proudmoore precede him onboard - but that turned out to be the absolute limit of his ability to wait, and at some point in the future he’d no doubt feel bad about having bumped into King Wrynn on the way by but _this was not that day_ and he threw his arms around Mathias; after only a split second’s surprised hesitation - which Flynn supposed was fair - Mathias returned the embrace.

“I sailed like a madman,” Flynn muttered into the side of Mathias’s neck. “I’ve _never_ sailed like that before. But I had to get you back.”

“And here I am,” said Mathias.

Flynn loosened his grip a little. “Here you are,” he said. Their eyes met and Flynn realised with a thrill that Mathias was smiling. He’d never seen him smile in public.

“I have to - I’m sorry, Flynn, but I have to -”

“I know,” said Flynn. “I just had to see you.”

Mathias cleared his throat and said, “So, about taking you to dinner.”

“I like free food,” said Flynn, and was gratified when Mathias chuckled.

“I’ll be several hours, but if you could meet me later at the Gilded Rose? I think we have some things we need to talk about.”

Flynn nodded and stepped back but Mathias was still _looking_ at him and Flynn had never claimed to be good at resisting his impulses; he crowded in close again and bent for a kiss. Mathias didn’t try to dodge him, but just as Flynn was thinking it might be worth his time to get creative Mathias pushed him gently back. “I have work to do, but take this.” He pressed something into Flynn’s hand - a blade of grass. Flynn looked down at it in confusion. “I’ll explain at dinner.”

“Is this a mainlander thing?”

“No. No, it’s just a me thing.”

Flynn smiled. “Then I like it already.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, so many _Princess Bride_ references. Also at least two different superspy universes. If Blizzard can do it, so can I.


End file.
